


Of Stitches And Sutures

by ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon



Series: Altean Bedtime Stories [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe – Modern Day, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Gang fighting, Gangs, Gen, M/M, keith hurt, klance, lance hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon/pseuds/ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon
Summary: Not every relationship is 100% smooth. Keith and Lance are no exception. Their relationship had a rocky start, but now they’re practically inseparable, treasuring one another and what they share between them. Yet a little bump in the road unsettles them far worse than any fight. And Keith, who has had a past of failed relationships, worries that his boyfriend’s new distance is about to lead them towards a devastating breakup.Currently on HIATUS whilst I finish other works





	Of Stitches And Sutures

“Get _down.”_

Their backs slammed against the stone of the wall, Lance grabbing Keith and pulling him to follow him down the extra few inches. It’s good he does, because now the boy’s plump and fluffy mullet no longer poking over from the top of the uneven rock wall he had chosen as their designated hiding spot. It was a quick decision, not the best given their circumstance, but it would have to do. Their saviour was only a planter’s perimeter but it should be enough that—

“Idiot, they’ll see us,” Keith hissed, his tone pulled from more than irritation.  
Or, he only managed to hiss the first word because the other three were muffled when Lance’s hand planted firmly over his mouth. “Sssh,” Lance ushered, raising his head slightly to peer over the planter, yet somehow still trying to keep his head behind it. 

The empty street didn’t stay empty for long. The sudden appearance of four brutish thugs saw to that, breaking the quiet with curses and growling threats towards a McClain that they had lost sight of.  
Even a stranger would understand what their matching graphic-T’s and black leather jackets stood for. Wisely, they’d keep their distance too. 

Instinct forced Keith and Lance to sink themselves lower, both hoping that Sendak and his squad of uglies wouldn’t see them. They tucked their legs under themselves, breathes slowing in that _fight-or-flight_ instinct that has seen them with their backs up to the wall one to many times. 

Keith ignores the pain in his arm, instead choosing to glare daggers at Lance – the idiot wisely keeping himself turned away as he tries to inconspicuously peer around the corner of their hiding place. He’s got a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, his lips pursed— _oh,_ and doesn’t Keith just hate himself right there and then because he’s thought about _kissing_ his blue bastard.  
Lance must’ve seen the want, because the little shit waggles his eyebrows, and in the blink of an eye, their lips are pressed. It’s a peck, barely anything to write home about, but its precious to Keith, even as he sits, breathing heavy, listening to Sendak declare _“this way!”_ He leads his uglies back towards the main street without a throwback over their shoulders. 

“That was close,” Lance laughed, grinning to himself as he relaxes against the hard-pressed stone. He flashes a lightning smile at Keith; the boy faltering on his cursing that, _no that wasn’t quick thinking, that was just pure luck._ Instead he says “you’re lucky Sendak barely has two brain cells to rub together. If it was anyone else giving chase, they wouldn’t have fallen for such an obvious ploy.” 

“But it _was_ Sendak chasing us. And I know he’s no smarter than anything I can scuff up with my shoe, which is why my quick-witted plan was so successful.” Lance crosses his arms like he’s won the argument. Keith can’t quite hide his irritation.  
“The limitless of your stupidity is a national treasure.” 

Lance just strikes a haphazard pose, yet somehow making it so that any vogue model would be instantly jealous. “That’s not the only thing I’ve got going for me.”  
But it’s Keith’s last laugh because Lance has just insulted himself. 

They don’t delay their retreat any longer. Lance is the first one to his feet, checking both ways down the street. It’s empty of Zarkon’s goons. That alone gives Lance’s grin a recharge and— _ah,_ Keith melted a little under the look.  
He couldn’t stay annoyed at his boyfriend for long – never could – and when Lance offers a hand, Keith is all too eager to take it. 

“I say we cut this outing short and head back to the girls before they realise that we haven’t gone that way.”  
“Sure.” 

Keith let Lance pull him to his feet, pale lips and square jaw forcing his silence.  
Lance doesn’t notice. He’s still dusting himself off, grumbling about an ache in his leg where he’d sat on a raised cobblestone. Keith lets him fuss over himself, trying to pull his mind from the burning in his arm and the ice-cold pit of dread that sits heavy in his gut. 

Noticing the Mullet’s silence, Lance moves closer to the boy, dancing in the graceful step that takes them from distance to a breath’s touch. He gets in a spin and a booty sway, 

showing off his butt ass, clad in new blue skinnies that do everything to Keith’s libido. The dust of the street-stone has left white square-imprints on each of his butt cheeks, perfectly emphasising the curvature of his fine supple ass that has Keith staring. Sure, he’d stare anyway, but Lance has put the effort in to look dashing, and even though the idiot can’t express compliments through words, he can certainly show Lance he approves with the slack-jaw, glossy eyed look that sits on his face. 

Lance’s own want stands tall, throbbing in his pants. 

It was towards his lusting urges that the blames for the altercation with Sendak lies; the taller being too needy to wait till they got to a suitable make out zone, instead pulling Keith into an alley for hot kisses and touches that left both groaning from pressure in their pants. Lance made the mistake of pulling Keith into a not-a-dead-end alley, where Sendak and his goons thought to take a shortcut, looking for their next victim.  
It was simply a bad result of, wrong place, wrong time, much like many of the pair’s run-ins with the opposing gang, but things had taken a turn for the worst: Sendak decided that this time, he meant business.

But now Sendak is gone and Lance moves closer, very open in his idea that he’s about to instigate more hot and heavy kisses. Keith hasn’t the mind to stop him, focus caught somewhere between _burning_ and _freezing._  
The lack of return has the other pull back, worry written in the crease lines of his forehead, open mouth ready to ask—

Keith sways.  
Lance steadies him. 

Any desire he previously felt is quickly replaced by concern— “Keith?”  
“S’ nothing.” —and maybe a little anger too. 

Narrow eyes fix themselves upon Keith’s tightly clutched arm. His hand comes away bloody. 

Keith’s favourite jacket has been cut, the material torn enough to reveal the curving slash that has both their throats tight. It’s bleeding sluggishly, but nothing serious enough that would cause either of them to start panicking.  
It is longer than it is deeper, and maybe that’s a blessing. Keith doesn’t think anything is a blessing with the way his arm burns. But then, right now all he can contend with is the pain, trying not to show how much he feels as to comfort Lance even if he isn’t the one who is ruining his wardrobe with blood. 

When Sendak meant business, he meant it with a _knife._

“S’ nothing,” the boy says again, jaw tight. 

Lance nods. His expression is one of stone; strong and steady, his voice much the same when he jerks his head to the boy’s arm. “That’s going to need stitches.”  
“Hopefully more then five. That means I take the lead.” Keith hears Lance huff. “Of course, trust the Mullet to be more concerned with the rankings rather than the bloody gash in his arm.”  
Keith smiles. “Mullet huh? I don’t think I’ve ever heard _that one_ before.”

Their joking is a comfort and a distraction all at once. Keith can keep his mind off of the desire to toss his cookies while Lance can keep his mind off the last time one of their own found themselves at the end of a Galra Blade.  
But forced humour has no life of its own, and once again they’re back to tension and quiet and fear. Lance’s mask is cracking faster than either hoped. He swallows thickly, eyes flickering between blood and sweat. 

“C’mon.” He forces a smile into his voice, shrugging his way out of his jacket, draping it lightly around his boyfriend’s shoulders, quickly followed by an arm around his hip, so it doesn’t look like he’s holding the boy up. Keith doesn’t fight him, tired, his head dropping to lean on Lance’s shoulder. 

“We should get going, before Sendak and the stooges come back. I’d rather not have to protect your ass and my good looks at the same time.”  
“What good looks?”

Keith is still smiling, the notion widening at Lance’s dramatic gasp. He takes a chance to open his eyes, now the blood is hidden and he doesn’t feel like the world will kilter sideways. Naturally, he sees exactly what he was expecting; Lance wide-mouthed, hand on his chest, all dramatic-like. “Oh no, please help. Keith is losing his mind. He’s forgotten me, the great, stunning, jaw dropping model, _his boyfriend.”_  
Keith just flips him the bird. 

Not wanting to delay any longer, Lance hurries the other along. He can’t help but glance back over his shoulder, wanting to make sure Sendak didn’t realise his prey had given him the slip, and he and his goons were working their way back towards them. The street remained clear, however, excluding a dithery old lady carrying her shopping. 

Lance guides Keith quickly back along the main shopping street, dodging other shoppers and giving the stink-eye to any outdated traditionalists that sent scowls towards the obvious too-close-for-friendship skinship.  
Usually that was Keith’s job, but he was too busy trying not to throw up or think about the slice in his upper arm. 

Conversation is a secondary thought, but with nothing else that could be a distraction, Lance starts sprouting nonsense. Until: “I’m going to have to start planning my funeral.” 

“What do you mean?”  
“What do you mean, _“what do you mean?’”_ Lance parrots, acting as if his sudden fear of imminent death is justified and entirely obvious. “This is the second date that I’m dragging you home, all bruised and bleeding. When Shiro finds out about this, he’s going to kill me. He’ll chop me up into a thousand pieces and feed me to the goldfish,” he adds when Keith wheezes with laughter.  
Lance can’t keep his face straight, happy enough that his words are enough distraction. He can’t help but feel prideful towards his boy, acting strong for his sake, _being_ strong regardless. 

The pair of them make it to the edge of the street, Lance looking both ways as the traffic light flickered lazily to amber. He’s is still on alert for Sendak or other Galra that might be out, roaming the street, unconsciously flinching at the streak of purple in his peripheral. But it was just a girl with seriously cool dyed hair. She was even rocking a leather jacket, much like the Galra Crew’s uniform, but she’s missing their Gangs symbol. Neither is she a face Lance recognises, and as not to attract unwanted attention, he shifted back to calm. 

They cross the street with silence between them, but Lance isn’t worried about Keith anymore, knowing the quiet is only down to pain and possibly embarrassment that the date got cut short from a fucking knife wound.  
But Keith’s had worse, and although that is a horrifying prospect in itself, it calms Lance because he knows his boy can endure this, until they get to Coran and get this mess stitched up. 

Two more roads and a busy high street later, they reach the girls. 

Lance’s baby sits where he left her; sleek and blue leaning on the dual spindle of her underbelly. She’s a gorgeous sleek midnight blue, a thick body and just as thick wheels that sit snug under her wheel guard. Streaks of luminous electric blue caress the sleek of her body, the engine underneath matt black to make the custom parts mould together perfectly, also making the blue pop just that much more. 

“Hey Blue,” Lance purrs, stepping away from Keith to run a hand up her side in custom greeting. In practiced perfection he hooks keys from his pockets, the helmet unlocked just as fast, before digging into his pack for his gloves. She’s parked next to Red and a line of other bikes, but none of them are as flashy as his and Keith’s custom models. 

Lance’s is the biggest in the row, but he doesn’t mind. His girl might be bulky but she’s the smoothest ride he’s ever had, and there’s nothing about her he doesn’t love. Red is small and sleek in comparison, the curvature of her saddle forcing Keith to lay into her as he rides, whereas Lance sits back, feet up on the stirrups and a full view of the road ahead.  
That doesn’t mean Red’s not a beast herself. She can hit 100mph from a standstill in seconds, her body light enough that Keith is practically an expert with wheelies and tricks and death-defying turns. She’s temperamental when she wants to be, but all ladies need feather touches and sweet words.  
Charm any lady right and she’ll open the world up to you. Red was no different. 

Keith is resting against a bollard nearby. He’s still holding his arm, but his mind is focused on Red, wearing that same look of immeasurable pride that Lance adores. She’s his baby, just like Blue is Lance’s.  
Built from the ground up, all in his backyard, scouring the net for custom parts, deals on prices and even pulling out the tools to fix Red’s engine himself, she was his pride and joy. 

But there was something with the way he watched her now that unnerved Lance. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but Keith didn’t look… _right._  
_Well he has been stabbed, what do you expect?_ his head berated him, spurring Lance to hurry it along. They didn’t know the severity of the cut, nor did they know the numbers that were now on the Paladin’s tail. Knowing the extent of the pairs luck, Sendak’s called Zarkon up and the entire opposing gang are out for war. 

Lance shakes himself free of such a terrifying thought, leaving Blue with his helmet and gloves, settling a hand on Keith’s hip to pull him out of whatever mind-hole he had fallen into. 

“Babe? You okay?”

Keith has tension lines all over his body; tell-tale signs to Lance who can read him like a book. It’s not just the pain of his arm that’s forcing lethargy into Keith’s body like a shot of heroin. His glassed eyes are full of sadness. Not pain, not fear.  
_Sadness._

“Babe?” Lance tries again, fingers kneading under the two layers of jackets, fingertips encroaching on the boy’s waistband to the softer skin of his stomach. It’s not his libido talking, it’s his love and care for Keith. As much as he loves skin-ship, Lance knows Keith is as tactile as he is. 

Sure enough, Keith leans back into his boyfriend, head pressed to the nook of Lance’s neck, the longer ends of the boy’s mullet tickling, but there is no room for laughter here. 

“I-I can’t ride her,” Keith voices numbly.  
“Sure you can—” Lance started, but two eyes turned up to him told him immediately that wasn’t the case. They both knew it, both knew how many times Lance has felt the pressure of Keith on his arm as they made their way here. The boy’s balance was off, he can barely lift and arm. His head is half preoccupied with pain, the other half with standing up.  
Riding Red wasn’t going to happen. 

“I can’t ride her.” 

Lance, realised the truth the moment Keith voiced it, and _god_ did his heart hurt from hearing the pain in his boyfriend’s voice. Anger prickles under his palms, the ache of his knuckles begging for the pain of punching Sendak in his gusset. 

“It’s okay babe. Ride with me,” he says, peppering a kiss on Keith’s closest cheek. “Red is fine here for a little while longer. No one is going to touch her.” With their standings with other gangs, that has always been a concern for both of them. But, this time, they’ve managed to cheat the system, considering they’ve parked both bikes directly opposite the Police Station. It’s a fall-back they’ve grown used to, to deter the Galra Crew messing with their rides while they suck face in the back of the cinema. 

Keith stared longingly at his girl. Lance stared too, his mind trying to think of how to get Red home, wishing Hunk and his pickup truck weren’t out of town right now. Matt could probably ride her home, Axca maybe too, but someone just needs to drop them off.  
Lance was almost too preoccupied with retrieving Red, to notice the hitch in his boyfriends breathing, right up until the boy stumbled, into Red, almost knocking her over. 

“Woah, woah.” Lance grabbed Keith not thinking of where his hands would fall, one on him, one on Red— Keith cried out in pain. “Ah shit, shit babe, I didn’t mean—”  
Lance releases his hand, moving to hook Keith under his arm rather than around it. He’s back to clutching at his gash, his palm once again bloody, Lance’s own jacket beginning to darken where the still-bleeding wound hasn’t let up.  
Ah, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ It’s worse than they thought. 

The tightness in Lance’s chest clears his mind. He shoves Keith, not unkindly so, towards Blue. “Key,” he demands, taking the set from Keith’s pale hand— _god they were clammy too_ — unlocking Keith’s helmet from where it had been latched to his girl.  
Lance’s fears were quelled when the other was able to pull on the helmet by himself, hooking his hands into gloves as Lance used Keith’s chain and his own to lock up both of Red’s wheels. Just a precaution. 

“What are you going to do about your jacket?” Keith asked, voice muffled as he looks down to the familiar green, slowly soaking in blood. Lance pulls it off the boy’s shoulders, then helps him into it properly, zipping the front up, even if it’s a bit tight with all the layers Mullet is wearing. “I’m good. I don’t need it.”  
“Lance you’re only wearing a t-shirt—”  
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just take the roads slower and we won’t do any wheelies.” 

Keith makes to protest further, but Lance mounts his Lady and Keith has no choice but to follow. Blue’s saddle is long enough that Lance doesn’t have to adjust his sitting for Keith to sit comfortably on the back. One hand loops around Lance’s waist and the motion pulls them closer until Keith’s helmet falls forward heavily, slamming into the back of Lance’s skull. He rambles an apology, but Lance is laughing because he did that the first time he rode on the back of Red when his first bike, an off-roader with killer suspension, died in McDonalds car park, three towns over. 

Then, it was Keith who had been the one to play knight in shining armour, leaving Lance to bumble his way through their first ride together, nearly knocking Keith unconscious when he slammed his own helmeted head into the back of Keith’s. Somehow, he got the boy’s number at the end of the evening. 

“Make sure you hold on,” Lance calls back over the rev of the engine, worry tilting his smile into a pout when he doesn’t hear Keith yell anything back. Instead, the arms around his midriff tighten, Keith’s gloves bunching up Lance’s shirt, thighs squeezing the hips that sits snug between them.  
“Tighter,” Lance says automatically, slipping his own helmet over his head, lifting the lid a tick so that his breath doesn’t fog up the safety glass. Keith complies, just as Lance flicks his wrist and twists the keys in the ignition and they’re off the pavement. 

Lance barely has his Lady in second gear when Keith’s head drops to rest against his back. His _arm must really be bugging him,_ he worries. And despite his promises to go slow, Lance doesn’t think twice when he hurtles onto the main street, 10mph too fast for the road laws.  
Still, Lance _is_ going slow for his standards. 

They leave Red in the car park, and head South towards the Inner City.  
Lance debates the hospital for a second, then remembering that it was a knife that got them here, and Keith is probably packing himself, Lance urges Blue to take them to the Veterinary Clinic on the East Side. 

Normally Lance would take the long route, the one where the road lifts and curves, following the lay of the land; a nice ride for the pair of them to enjoy. But this isn’t a joy ride.  
Keith is bleeding heavily, and Lance needs Coran _yesterday._

They hit the motorway; a straight shot towards the Inner City, bypassing the first junction to slip off at the second, then hike back up the one-way system. It was quicker this way, even on a bike which allowed weaving and manoeuvring of cars. This way, they avoided most of the traffic lights. 

It wasn’t ten minutes later from leaving the Police Station did Blue hit the tarmac of the Veterinary Clinic. She purred herself into her calm, content-quiet as Lance got off, kicking the dual spindle down. He swings his hips off her, giving her a quick pat before turning to Keith. He hadn’t fallen off. that was a good sign.  
Neither did he look as pale as Lance imagined, so that was better, but the nasty dark red on his jacket wasn’t doing anything to untangle the knot of tension in his throat. 

Lance swallowed, swallowed again, before easing Keith off the bike and working their way to the quiet entrance of the staff-access side door. 

“You wait in here, I’ll go find Coran.” Lance says, pushing Keith into the first door on his left to avoid any maybe-visitors in the waiting room. Keith protests to sit upon the examination table, but a wordless look leaves him with his tail between his legs.  
“Hot drink or cold?” Lance asks at the door, knowing sugar would help as much as stitches. “Hot,” comes the boy’s gruff reply, before Lance is off, heading to reception to get Gwen to track down the pair’s adopted Uncle. 

Lance returns first, two chocolate bars and a steaming mug of black coffee in his hands. They don’t really talk, neither searching for the opportunity to incite argument while tensions run high. 

They don’t have to wait for long, hearing the hurried footsteps along the hall, undoubtedly Coran. And there he is, all twizzled moustache and cat companion on his shoulder, the cheeriness of his smile gone in an instant when he looks to Keith’s bloody arm making a mess despite the pressure of a firm grip. 

Lance shot the man an apologetic smile. “Could you…?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking this on-going work. I hope you have enjoyed it so far. 
> 
> If so, I have more Klance fics, ultimate Langst fics, a little Shance and then a treasure trove of one shots in the series "Altean Bedtime Stories" which I’m collecting prompts for, so if you want to throw me a pairing, a title or a prompt – in the comment section – I would GREATLY appreciate it!!!  
> Also, prompts aren’t restricted to Voltron. If there’s anything you want me to have a go at, throw the idea my way and I shall try not to butcher it!
> 
> Much love  
> ~Fae xxx


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